I strained to see through the leaves jammed up against my cracked windows. A helicopter hovered off to my left, about a half mile away, further down the mountain. Slowly, deliberately, it began to move back and forth, up and down, casting a beam of bright light through the trees.
The cavalry had arrived!
I waited for them to come back my way and prayed that the leaves around me would let them see my car.
My black car.
Damn!
I swore right then that my next car was going to be white. Black might be cool, but cool don’t cut it, baby. Not when you’re stranded on the side of a mountain.
As I watched, the helicopter moved further away.
Huh?
How come they were working down there and not up here?
Patience, I told myself, and my mother’s voice came singsonging through my head: “Patience is a virtue. Have it if you can. Seldom in a woman, Never in a manem>.”
I kept sawing with the key. More than half an inch to go, yet the helicopter was even further away now, sweeping the area with its cone of light. Desperately, I paused and flashed the light on my keychain. Pitiful. The tiny bulb was meant to give just enough light to see a keyhole, not to signal rescuers. There was a flashlight in the glove compartment, though, and if I ever got out of this seat belt—
I sawed frantically. Oh glory! Here came the helicopter back up the slope again. I urged it on. Come to mama, baby. A little more, a little more—shit! Nowhere near me and now it was turning to hover over the same area.
My fingers were cramping. I felt the blister pop and I didn’t care, just pushed aside the fuzz and kept sawing.
Suddenly the last few threads parted with a jolt and I was free!
All my bangs and bruises protested as I lunged for the glove compartment and found the flashlight. The brightness almost blinded me when I flashed it off and on toward the helicopter.
I almost howled in frustration as it flew slowly back down the mountain.
Belatedly, I remembered my phone. Yes!
I had to wriggle over the console to the passenger seat and then fumble around on the floor before I found it.
As soon as I flipped it open and pressed the menu button, the dial lit up. Lit up, but no little service symbol appeared on the screen.
I couldn’t believe it. I’d heard it ring before the car rolled again, and surely I hadn’t rolled very far. All that effort, only to find I was in a dead zone?
I slid back over to the driver’s seat and pushed on the door handle. The car had landed at an angle that would require me to push the door’s entire weight up and away. Even bracing my back against the console and pushing with my feet, I couldn’t get enough leverage to open the door more than a crack. I knew this model had heavy doors, but this was ridiculous.
At this rate, I could flat die here.
And then, miraculously, the phone chirped and I looked down to see the service icon. Just moving from one side of the car to another had been enough.
Carefully, gingerly, keeping all the stars in alignment, I dialed 911 and held my breath.
CHAPTER 30
THURSDAY EVENING
“Captain Underwood?” The blond who got up from the piano and came forward when the housekeeper showed him into the music room was a younger, plumper version of Sunny Osborne.
“I’m Laura Osborne. My mother will be down in a minute.”
She was not as attractive as her mother. Her sweater was too tight to flatter her overly generous curves, her hair was cut too short and tufts of it stuck out as if she’d slept on it wrong, but her voice was bewitching when she asked if she could get him something to drink.
He shook his head, waiting for her to speak again, and when she merely stood there with a quizzical look on her broad face, he blurted, “I’ll bet you sing like an angel.”
She laughed, a rich chord of descending notes.
“Thank you. Some people have said so.” Her voice softened. “My father thought so.”
He looked at the sheets of music on the piano and remembered what the housekeeper had said when he called this afternoon.
“You’re choosing music for him?”
She nodded. “And it’s harder than I thought it would be. He was bluegrass and gospel, I’m Purcell and Bach. He’s definitely not Bach, but bluegrass sounds really dumb when it’s sung by a trained contralto.”
“Please don’t let me interrupt you, then,” he said, half hoping that she would sing a few lines as she sorted through the music.
“That’s all right. I— Ah! Here’s Mother.”
“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Captain,” Sunny Osborne said. She crossed the room briskly to take his hand. “What can you tell me?”
“Is there some place we could speak privately?” he asked, with an apologetic look at Laura Osborne.
“No problem,” said the younger woman. “I’ll be upstairs if you want me, Mother.”
She pulled the door to when she left.
“What is it that Laura shouldn’t hear?” Mrs. Osborne sat down on the sofa and waved him to an adjacent chair.
“The day that Dr. Ledwig died,” he began.
“Carlyle?” Her bright face darkened with anger. “I’ve told you and told you. Carlyle’s death has nothing to do with Norman’s. Nothing! Why do you people keep saying it does?”
“The day that Dr. Ledwig died,” he repeated firmly, “were you there on the deck?”
“I beg your pardon?” She sat very still and her blue eyes regarded him steadily.
“Were you on the deck the afternoon that Dr. Ledwig died?”
“Does someone say I was?”
“Mrs. Osborne?”
“Oh, very well. I suppose it was that UPS man?”
“Yes, ma’am. Why didn’t you mention it to us before?”
She shrugged. “No one specifically asked me.”
“You knew we were asking anyone who’d spoken to Dr. Ledwig that day to come forward.”
“And if I’d had anything to contribute, I would have. But I didn’t. I felt like a game of tennis and I stopped by to see if Tina wanted to play. When no one answered the front bell, I heard hammering and went around to the rear.”
“Dr. Ledwig was still alive?”
“Well, of course he was! I asked him about Tina. He said she was already at the club and I left.” She gave a wry smile. “At least I would have left if that UPS truck hadn’t been blocking my car. He assumed I was Tina and handed the stuff to me. It seemed like more trouble than it was worth to tell him differently, so I carried it back around and Carlyle told me to put it on the table by the door. And then I really did leave. You can ask at the club. I was there before three.”
“You saw no one else as you were leaving?”
She shook her head.
“Who do you think killed him, Mrs. Osborne?”
“That boyfriend of Carla’s, of course. He was there. He had the motive.”
“And if not him?”
She shook her head. “Then I don’t have a clue.”
“I see.” He stood to go. “Thank you, Mrs. Osborne. I’m sorry I had to bother you tonight.”
“That’s it?” she asked, surprised. “You came all the way out here just to ask if I saw Carlyle that day? What about Norman? Don’t you have anything new to tell me?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. Soon as we know, you’ll know.”
“It’s not fair.” Tears filled her eyes. “Norman’s dead and the only one you worry about is Carlyle?”
“No, ma’am,” he said gently. “We worry about both of them.”
To return to the road Deborah Knott had disappeared on, Underwood had to go back almost to the main state highway, then head west up over the ridge. As he drove, he checked in with the dispatcher. “Any word yet?”
“Negative, Captain. ETA for the chopper is about another twenty-five minutes. Volunteers from two fire stations are already there, with three others on the way.”
“What’s taking the chopper so long?”
He heard a snort of laughter across the airwaves. “They were changing the oil filters on it when we called.”